Page 19 of The Chemist

He didn’t like the sudden look of amusement that seemed to take over Daddy M’s face. He was up to something.

“You know what? That’s actually a really great idea. And while you’re out enjoying that new change of scenery—all nice and relaxed—you can meet with Dr. Annetta Bloom and beginyour one-on-one therapy sessions. I hear that she has a lovely office right in the heart of downtown London. I’m sure that you will love it down there. How does that sound?”

Annoyance pooled itself in the pit of Diesel’s stomach. He wondered just how much he could challenge Matteo before he decided Diesel wasn’t leaving the château. It wasn’t worth it. He needed a change. He needed fresh air!

Hating that Matteo had won once again, he decided to give in to the brilliant man’s trickery.

“Fine.” Diesel huffed, finally accepting his fate.

Meeting with the doc was going to besucha shit show.

7

ZERO

Movement at the front door caught Zero’s attention. He watched as his target locked his front door and then hopped into his car to head off to work. It was always the same. The doctor left his home around six thirty a.m., then worked in the lab until about six, except for Mondays and Tuesdays when the man seemed to stay late and work until seven thirty at night.

Zero wasn’t exactly sure what the doctor did at the lab. It was a high-security facility, so it wasn’t like he could just walk in and take a snoop around. The man did have an advanced degree in biology and chemistry, and according to the journal that his boss showed him, the man was some kind of chemist.

The doctor did also have a secondary office that he kept, outside his home and the lab. Zero was still trying to understand why the man had the other office, but that was a question for another day.

Today, his goal was to break into the doc’s house and have a look around. See if there were any clues there that might help him with his investigation. The boss would be looking for results sometime soon, and so far, he was coming up with zilch.

Dressed as a cable repairman, Zero carried his box of tools around to the back of the house. It was always easier breaking in through the backyard, away from prying eyes. Not that he was any kind of super criminal. His specialty was cons, duping people out of their money. Breaking and entering was just a skill that he had developed over the years, hanging out with different sorts of questionable characters.

Once he reached the back of the house, he located the back patio door, then fished his cell phone out of his pocket.

“I’m here,” he said into his phone and waited.

“Give me one sec.” There was a forty-five-second pause before the voice came back on the phone. “Security cameras are looped. You have two hours.”

“Thanks, boss,” Zero said into the phone before hanging up on the man who hired him to do this job.

The man’s name was Marc, and he lived in the United States. Apparently, he was trying to confirm some information and needed him and his skills to assist him with this investigation.

Zero still wondered if Marc made a mistake and hired the wrong man. Other than being great at conning people, he was far from a professional investigator. Perhaps it was his confidence and ability to adapt to ever-changing situations. That was one of the skills you needed as a con artist—the ability to switch tactics midstream and think on your toes. If you weren’t convincing and sure of yourself, your victims would be on to you in no time at all.

Zero’s mind drifted back to when he was ten years old and pulling scams with his father.

“Here, hang this around your neck,” his father said, handing him a lanyard with a plastic ID card attached.

Zero flipped it over and looked at the picture. It was him, taken from one of the photos his father carried around with him in his wallet. He knew because he had seen his dad show his friends from time to time.

Scribbled just underneath his photo were the words “Press Pass.”

“Dad, what does ‘Press Pass’ mean?” Zero asked, throwing the lanyard around his neck and making sure that his photo was facing in the right direction.

“It means that you are here to take pictures and then share them on the internet and in magazines.”

“But I don’t have a camera, and how do I share the pictures on the internet and in magazines?”

His father held up a camera. “This is just pretend, remember. If anyone asks, Daddy works for a big magazine and is here to take pictures.”

“And what about me?”

“You are my assistant. Now are we done with all the stupid questions?” his father growled.

Zero knew better than to continue asking his father questions. Instead, he nodded and reached for his father’s hand.

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